


worth it

by prowlish



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Springer wants some alone time after it all. Prowl has his own plans, as always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	worth it

**Author's Note:**

> [This](https://twitter.com/decepticats/status/726125169618509826) is the reason this fic exists, lol. Posting before anything hinting at SOTW #5 can come out and destroy my optimistic view that they're all getting out of there unscathed :'Db
> 
> Quick & dirty fic to bolster my Camp Nano wordcount. I'm so sorry for quality issues ;;

They said things about cybercats and boxes, but it was uncanny how the same effect worked with Prowl and desks. Despite the fact that this room had long been absent, nothing in it was  _ Prowl’s _ . Springer knew that for sure. This was the office that had been kept on Debris, dark and silent, waiting for his return.

 

Springer didn’t want to think about that. But entering the office -- the first place he could think of to be  _ alone _ after everything -- he found a different topic for his processors to chew over:

 

Prowl. 

 

Springer pursed his lips. Despite Prowl not belonging here -- or anywhere else on Debris, for that matter -- the mech sure was sitting behind his desk as if it were his own. “Prowl…” he said, his voice belying his exhaustion. He didn’t want to deal with Prowl, either. He didn’t want to think about all of the things Prowl had done; didn’t want to think about Hubcap, or Impactor; didn’t want to think about Roadbuster; didn’t want to think about Kup.

 

And even that circled right back to things Prowl had done.

 

“Yes?” Prowl prompted, but it was the flicker of a doorwing that broke Springer out of his brooding.

 

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about any of this.” And he had, even as Prowl had spoken as close to a gratitude as Prowl got.

 

Prowl quirked an optic ridge at him. “I’m not here to talk.”

 

Springer narrowed his optics. He highly doubted that. All Prowl _ did _ was talk. “Sure,” he grunted, and the single word did wonders to express his contempt. He took a step forward, knowing that his size would have him looming over Prowl soon. 

 

Prowl, of course, didn’t appear at all intimidated. He looked infuriatingly put together, in fact, fresh from repairs.

 

Shaking his helm, Springer made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Get out.”

 

To his surprise, Prowl stood -- slowly and deliberately, as if that made him any less obedient in the action. “Springer,” he said. But the words for what he wanted to say seemed beyond his grasp. Would wonders never cease?

 

“What?” Springer said, far more impatient than Prowl’s prompting before. He flopped ungracefully into the now-vacated chair, long legs sprawling as he sighed. Again, the flick of a doorwing took his gaze to Prowl again, who still lingered at the arm of the chair -- and whose gaze appeared to have lingered on his legs.

 

Instead of answering, Prowl squeezed himself between the desk and Springer’s knees, and Springer sat up a little. “Prowl, what are you doing?” 

 

Prowl leaned forward, his hands balancing his weight on Springer’s knees, blue optics glowing bright as he replied, “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

 

Springer rolled his optics, but a nervous energy presented itself in his EM field, tanks tingling with it. “Well, I definitely don’t want to if you’re going to be a smartaft.”

 

Prowl snorted, a brief smirk curling his lips -- as if to say,  _ when am I  _ not _ a smartaft? _ But again, Prowl abandoned words for action, and soon Springer was staring down at him with raised optic ridges, as Prowl knelt between his legs.

 

Heat licked at his circuits, and that nervous energy in his field easily shifted into arousal. And it wasn’t that this made an unattractive picture, or that Springer hadn’t envisioned it  _ quite _ a few times, but Springer was a little. Well. Confused. Fantasies or not, he had a hard time imagining Prowl getting on his knees for anyone. “Prowl?” he said, voice wavering at the end because -- Primus -- that’s when Prowl had decided to lean his cheek against his pelvic plating. His warm exvents washed over his panels, giving him another shiver.

 

“Yes?” he said, tilting his helm to peek an optic up at Springer.

 

Forming words was suddenly quite hard. Springer swallowed. “What -- I mean  _ why _ are you -- ?” His question choked off in a surprised moan at the feeling of Prowl’s glossa lapping at the seams of his panels.  _ Frag. _

 

Prowl hummed thoughtfully, as though considering his answer, and it was just another sensation pushing Springer’s self-control.

 

Wasn’t this one of the best ways to unwind after such a mission? Impactor certainly thought so, he thought wryly. And if Prowl was so insistent… well, Springer wasn’t able to keep his panels closed much longer anyway.

 

Those doorwings  _ waved _ in what Springer might have labeled delight, if he’d thought Prowl was capable of such a bright, warm feeling.

 

It wasn’t until Prowl had his lips gliding over the length of his spike that Prowl decided to answer him. He canted his helm again, peering up at Springer with that sly, nigh- _ playful _ look, and murmured, “I thought you said something about proving I was worth saving.”

 

Springer blinked, forced his optics to focus -- which was hard, as Prowl had resumed playing his lips up the underside of Springer’s spike. His engine rumbled, a thick and low sound, and Springer finally summoned words: “Not quite what I meant.”

 

Prowl chuckled. “I don’t see you putting your spike away,” he remarked.

 

Springer snorted. “Should I?”

 

Prowl answered _ that  _ by lifting his helm and wrapping his lips around the tip of Springer’s spike. The green mech moaned, leaning his helm back as his vents kicked up. Lifting a hand almost tentatively, Springer rested it on Prowl’s helm. He’d never cared for it, himself, but Prowl didn’t seem to mind. 

 

And he  _ really _ seemed to like it when Springer ran his fingertips over the newly repaired chevron adorning his helm. Those doorwings that kept catching his optic actually  _ shivered _ , and the flare of Prowl’s field against his own was hot -- and refreshing, from a mech normally so cold.

 

There was nothing cold about the way Prowl moved his mouth over Springer’s length. The mech was actually sucking his spike with enthusiasm -- a foreign notion of Prowl before this moment. It was so easy for Springer to lean his helm back, his hand idly stroking Prowl’s chevron, his plating shivering in mounting pleasure as Prowl bobbed his helm over his length.

 

Another moan slipped from Springer as he felt Prowl push a little, clinging to his hips as he worked to fit as much of Springer’s spike in his mouth as possible. Not  _ all _ of it, considering their difference in size, but it was certainly impressive. Or would be, if he weren’t trembling in the pleasure from it. “Prowl -- ” he gasped, backstruts arching. 

 

Prowl moaned in return, only increasing the sensation around his spike, and pushing a jolt of arousal through his frame again. Had he thought he’d seen enthusiasm from Prowl before? Because  _ now _ the mech had sped up, pulling his lips to the head of Springer’s spike to suck  _ hard _ before pushing back down to his limit again, and massaging his thumbs into Springer’s hip joints the whole while.

 

Springer couldn’t last under this kind of assault and he grasped the arms of the chair in a death vice, shouting as he overloaded in Prowl’s mouth.

 

“Seeing stars” could be literal, and that’s how Springer felt in the moment, his vents roaring. By the time his vision was normal again, all he could focus on was Prowl, standing and wiping a dribble of transfluid from his chin, and somehow managing to make  _ that _ look demure.

 

And all Springer could do was study him -- he didn’t know what to do or say, except watch Prowl and let his frame try to catch up with all of the heat and lingering pleasure.

 

Or maybe to pique again -- Prowl had spent his own moment considering Springer, before simply crawling on top of his lap. Springer licked his lips, expecting more of that teasing, for Prowl to want his own turn…

 

But he seemed to be content to lean against Springer’s chestplate. After a moment, moving his hand to gently rest between those captivating doorwings. His touch became a little more sure when Prowl didn’t protest, and instead seemed to lean into his frame more. “...Prowl?” he finally said.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you want, uh…?” Springer wasn’t sure how to phrase himself. He could feel the shimmer of arousal in Prowl’s field, though it wasn’t overwhelming -- just enough to assert itself.

 

“No, it’s okay,” Prowl murmured against his neck.

 

Springer hummed. This seemed even more strange to him than anything preceding it, but he knew better than to remark. Sighing, he reclined in the chair, putting his pedes up on the desk and letting Prowl just rest against him. 

 

That wasn’t hurting anything, after all. And he was curious to see if Prowl would fall into recharge if he kept stroking there, right between his doorwings.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


End file.
